On July 4th, 2006, I embarked on a quest to become the pre-eminent American portrait painter of the 21st century. This blog chronicles that journey. With apologies to Joan Didion, I call it THE YEAR OF MAGICAL PAINTING.

Sunday, July 04, 2010

Season Five Begins, as usual, with that song by Bruce Springsteen

It was my impression that I always reprinted this song on July 4th. Apparently this is not entirely true, although I did in 2008. This time, in acknowledgment of the fact that Republicans are God's creatures too, I'm using a flush-right format.

4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)

Sandy, the fireworks are hailin' over Little Eden tonightForcin' a light into all those stony faces left stranded on this warm JulyDown in town the circuit's full of switchblade lovers, so fast, so shiny, so sharpAs the wizards play down on Pinball Way on the boardwalk way past darkAnd the boys from the casino dance with their shirts open like Latin lovers on the shoreChasin' all them silly New York virgins by the score

Sandy, the aurora is risin' behind usThose pier lights, our carnival life foreverOh, love me tonight, for I may never see you againHey, Sandy girl... my baby

Now the greasers, they tramp the streets or get busted for sleepin' on the beach all nightThem boys in their high heels, ah Sandy, their skins are so whiteAnd me, I just got tired of hangin' in them dusty arcades, bangin' them pleasure machinesChasin' the factory girls underneath the boardwalk, where they all promised to unsnap their jeansAnd you know that Tilt-a-Whirl down on the south beach drag? I got on it last night and my shirt got caughtAnd it kept me spinnin', they didn't think I'd ever get off

Sandy, the waitress I was seein' lost her desire for meI spoke with her last night, she said she won't set herself on fire for me anymoreShe worked that joint under the boardwalk, she was always the girl you saw boppin' down the beach with the radioKids say last night she was dressed like a star in one of the cheap little seaside bars, and I saw her parked with her lover boy out on the KokomoDid you hear, the cops finally busted Madame Marie for tellin' fortunes better than they do?For me this carnival life's through-- you ought to quit this scene too

Manomanoman, that's a great line popping out of a 19-year old Jersey boy's brain. Bob Dylan has said on occasion that as an older man he just couldn't write the songs he wrote in his youth. Just couldn't do it. Which suggests a diminishment of mental athleticism very much along the lines of Johan Santana realizing he can't throw his fastball the way he used to. Inversely, it's Picasso saying he worked all his life to be able to paint like a child.

And this, dear reader, is a photo of Ike Davis, half way through his rookie season already part of the bedrock that supports the Rube Goldbergian contraption known as the New York Metropolitans.

Me? I Like Ike ... as they say.

Plus, from the right angle, he looks quite a bit like Bruce Springsteen.